A grin spread over Bast’s face, and his one good eye came alight. Anjita’s eyes narrowed and a smile touched the corners of her mouth. They all understood Khuson’s plan. Despite Naasiha’s rage, she could only force them to speak hidden truths. Even the spirit of truthtelling could not control which truths they chose to speak.
“Enough!” Naasiha screeched, turning her lashing body towards Munayair. “It is time for the liar’s sins to be heard and punished!”
“Three years ago, I got a job escorting a merchant train to Andustava and I lost them.” Khuson spoke faster. “Never did find those guys again.”
A wrathful hiss answered him. Naasiha loomed, a thick scum darkening the vivid green of her eyes. The pressure of the unendee eased a bit and Munayair’s heart hammered faster. It was working!
“My favorite pastime is playing marbles!” Khuson yelled to be heard over the snake’s fury, the roaring of the fire, the rushing wind, the groaning earth. “When I’m done reading a page in a book, I just rip it out and use it as fuel!” He swallowed down a hoarse throat and paused.
Bast’s eyebrows lowered, and he growled without hesitation, “I once passed gas and blamed it on Sisue.”
Dashjin piped up, grinning, from Khuson’s shoulder. “I tried on my dad’s crown and it got stuck. I had to knock myself silly to get it off before anyone saw.”
After a moment of struggle, Anjita spoke in a strangled voice. “One time, I vomited all over my ma’s bed and told her the baby did it.” She let out a gasp and glared around. “Don’t go repeating that, you hear? Ma would kill me if she knew.”
Naasiha whirled on Khuson and Munayair, still standing hand-in-hand. “So clever and defiant, even at the end of the world,” she spat. “You can’t escape your fate with trickery, Sarem-Oryn Munayair.” She locked eyes with Anjita. “Perhaps you can evade truth in the unendee, but your friend’s mind cannot withstand my thrall.”
Bartan Brightburning’s bow was drawn in a heartbeat, aiming at one poisonous green eye. “I’m not afraid of you, demon,” Anjita spat in defiance of her own hands’ trembling. “Do your worst.”
“Oh child,” Naasiha chuckled, “you are too adorable. You think you’re brave? You think you’ve suffered? I have seen miseries you cannot imagine. Soon, very soon—you will know.”
The arrow flew wildly and glanced off Naasiha’s cheek. Unimpressed, she swayed back and forth. Sweat soaked Anjita’s temples, and she fumbled for the quiver. Naasiha’s spoke, calm and soft. “Speak, Munayair of the Sarem-Ori clan, or I will teach her a truth to claim her life.”
“Don’t listen to her, Naya!” Anjita cried, glaring at the snake, bow quivering as she aimed the last arrow. Bast stood next to her, a stone in each hand, face white as bone but feet planted.
Eyes glowing, Naasiha lowered her head towards Anjita. “What will it be? Can you stop her from throwing herself in the fire this time? Drowning herself in the river?”
“I’ll kill you, demon,” Anjita snarled. She took careful aim at one green eye.
Munayair could bear it no longer. “She’s right, Jita.” The words dropped like stones from her lips. “I haven’t been honest with you. I ... I lied.”
“Kid, no!” Bast shouted. Flickering, Dashjin rose higher.
A sigh escaped Khuson. His fingers relaxed and Munayair’s hand dropped to her side, cold and empty. He stared straight ahead, his other hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. Fear tore through Munayair, as loud and uncontrollable as the windstorm around them.
“What?” Anjita tore her eyes away from Naasiha and turned to stare at Munayair. “What are you talking about?”
No more hiding. Munayair looked into a precipice, preparing to throw herself in. She would lose her best friend, and then Khuson’s sword would strike. Two more casualties of Geshuu’s curse, as the world came to an end around them.
High overhead, through smoke and charred branches, stars gleamed. A faint orange tinge at the edge of the dark blue sky signaled the coming dawn.
Unaraq crashed into a nearby wall and slid in a shower of sparks. The flaming sword clattered to the ground. He struggled to one knee, shaking his head. Long rents had been torn in his side, and hot sparks poured like blood from the wound, cooling to ash as they fell. His flames had burned to coal-black. Light gleamed through cracks in his skin, and his eyes glowed fitfully, like dying embers. He met Munayair’s eyes and held them.
“Speak!” The power of the unendee pressed on her chokingly. Naasiha pressed on, relentless. “You, liar and murderer, hoped to defy me, the embodiment of justice?”
Munayair drew in a shuddering breath, reaching deep inside for the clearest truth that she knew. She saw her mother’s face in front of her, raw and blistered and twisted with rage. Her eyes blurred with tears. “You’re right. I destroy everything I touch. I brought disaster to my clan, to my family, to the Marble Hall, to Anjita. I even brought disaster here. It’s my fault.”
“Naya,” Anjita murmured, stepping forward.
But Munayair backed away. “Stay away! If you’re near me, you’ll be hurt more, and I can’t watch it happen again!”
Understanding flickered in Anjita’s eyes, stepping from sunlight into shadow. “You mean—”
“Yes.” Munayair spoke quickly, wanting it to be over. “I severed you from word magic. Me.”
Tears spilled over Anjita’s eyes. She stood unmoving, bow and arrow dangling from her fingers. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she gasped.
“Why?” Munayair didn’t recognize the hard, clipped voice coming from her mouth. “Because I’m a coward. I thought I would lose you, so I lied. Over and over until the taste of it made me sick.”
Bartan Brightburning’s bow clattered to the ground. Anjita wrapped her arms around herself, tears dripping down her cheeks. Bast hadn’t moved, eyes moving restlessly from face to face.
Tongue flickering, Naasiha turned to Khuson. “Well, Night Watcher? Have you heard enough?”
When he spoke, Khuson’s voice was void of emotion. “Sarem-Oryn Munayair, the goddess sees you.”
Anjita’s head came up. “No.”
“Get back, kid.” Bast shoved himself between Munayair and Khuson, rocks still held in both fists. But Khuson continued to look her in the eyes, ignoring the boatman’s existence entirely.
How hungry this curse is, Munayair thought distantly. How many deaths will it take to satisfy it?
Khuson spoke in a robotic drone. “You destroyed the life of someone who loves you, out of fear. Worse, you left her in the dark when you could relieve part of her burden by opening your mouth. Again out of fear.”
She barely heard him as she gazed into the expressionless gold eyes, coins stitched onto the face of a doll. Her attention turned inward, where the pressure waited, patient. Waiting for a command. Waiting for her.
Avlingai might be gone, but his wisdom remained. Patience, she could hear him whisper. Show no fear. Wait until the right moment.
Bast yanked on Munayair’s sleeve. “Kid, you can stop him! Like before, in the woods. Tell him to stop! He’ll listen to you!”
In answer, Khuson unsheathed his sword with a soft ringing sound and pointed it at the center of Bast’s chest. Bast stood in front of Munayair, arms outstretched, weeping—but he did not move.
“Have you any words to say?” Khuson asked.
The egg cracked a final time. A heavy, armored head rose and opened eyes black as obsidian. Now it rose to its full height, blackness gathering around it in an aura. Molten ore dripped from Odde’s mouth, sizzling and smoking where it hit water. Claws of burning metal screeched against stone.
Fear screamed through Munayair, a terrifying ripping sound, and fell silent. In this silence she found that she already knew what to do. Some part of her had been preparing for this moment for a long time.
“I am afraid,” she said, softly. “But not of you.” She shoved Bast out of the way with a strength that surprised her. Raised her head to the blow.
K
huson looked at her with blank eyes and a line appeared between his eyebrows. The hand holding the sword trembled.
And fell harmlessly to his side.
At the same moment, Munayair let go, and the pressure leaped into the open. It surged to life eagerly, snarling like a caged tiger set free. The power filled her to bursting—the broad rawness of a grizzled bear, the sleek tenacity of a speckled salmon hurdling a freezing waterfall. She squeezed her eyes shut, limbs shaking with the effort of directing the power.
Naasiha’s eyes flashed with rage. “You heard her confess her sins, Night Watcher!” she hissed. “Kill her now!”
“I cannot,” he said, still strange and detached, “I will not.”
As he spoke, the suffocating pressure of the unendee broke, sluicing away in waves. Naasiha’s tongue flickered wildly, and she reared back, eyes wide, black flooding in to cover the green. The first light of morning touched the back wall of the cavern, filtering through the smoke.
Sister, I am here.
Warm breath touched Munayair’s hand. She froze, wondering if her imagination was playing tricks on her. Slowly, she turned to find soft blue eyes looking at her adoringly.
“Five gods!” Bast screamed, grabbing Anjita’s hand and fleeing from the enormous blond bear.
“YOU.” Black flooded Naasiha’s green eyes. She fell back, hood flattening as she retreated towards the spring. “Impossible. How could you have hidden from me?”
Avlingai’s gaze turned towards her, and his lips peeled back in a snarl. For the first time in the ten years Munayair had known him, he spoke aloud for all to hear. “I am not responsible for your blindness,” he growled. “I was always here.”
His already enormous size expanded, towering over everyone else and filling the cavern. Awed, the remaining spirits prostrated themselves and prayed aloud. Bast and Anjita clutched at each other, wide-eyed. Even the tachoul wavered, moving away from Avlingai as they would from a bonfire. Only Khuson remained beside Munayair, staring at the floor, sword clutched in hand, light gleaming within his chest. Avlingai saw none of them. His eyes, like twin flames, fastened on Naasiha.
With an enraged hiss she struck, a flash of scales too fast for the eye to follow. Bellowing until the air shook and rocks clattered, Avlingai swung a shield-sized paw. The blow would have torn a lesser creature in half, but Naasiha dodged. She fell back, hood flattening and tail rattling against the floor. Growling threateningly, Avlingai paced back and forth, eyes flashing. Smoke writhed across the blue-black sky until only his flaming blue eyes could still be seen.
I’ve seen him like this before, Munayair thought. Her breath caught. She remembered the pressure of the water, the numbing cold and fear. Blue eyes sparked in the blackness, and warmth spread through her. The inward pressure flared joyfully at the memory, and the mark on her wrist burned like fire.
“Although this is too much to ask, my child, I must anyway. Will you save my children?”
“Yes,” she said. “I will.”
When she opened her eyes again, everything was different.
Tiny sparks burned inside every living thing in the cavern, from the tiniest ulger to Odde herself. Webs of white fire crisscrossed the room, even when she closed her eyes. Every spirit there was connected to a thread. Curiously, she followed a thick line emanating from Unaraq’s form until it disappeared into a crack in the earth. Even the tachoul had a thread of fire trailing far away into the distance. Only the humans had no thread, each instead containing a spark of light, burning bright as a star.
Her fingers closed around the burning mark and brilliant light flooded the cavern. A tachoul caught in the beam froze, mesmerized by the light. A sigh escaped its mouth as it melted away. Vertigo assailed Munayair, like looking into a black pit falling endlessly away.
“I thought it would be easier,” she said, shuddering.
“Judgment is never easy, even against shadows.” Avlingai’s voice sounded like snow crunching.
Gritting her teeth, Munayair held up her arm. The light fell over the ranks of corrupted spirits, snapping the threads. In moments they had all evaporated like frost on the surface of a lake when the sun came out. Each time the sick giddiness increased until her stomach roiled and her head whirled.
The light fell on Odde and she shrieked, ducking her head, slashing with razor-sharp claws. Her cry was terrible, but full of fear.
A hot hand fell on Munayair’s arm and she started, looking around to see Unaraq smiling wearily at her. His skin had burned to grey, the color of dying coals. “Release her from the spring,” he said. “Set us free.”
Munayair bent to inspect a chain of burning ice thick connecting the dragon to the spring. Contained within the line was a cord of light, broken at the end and fraying. In silence, Khuson followed when she tugged on his hand, as he had when the ulger enthralled him. She grabbed the chain and tugged on it. The icy cold burned. In response, Odde shrieked and writhed, wings flaring. Her cry echoed, high and fearful. Avlingai replied with a series of mournful bellows as if he felt the dragon’s pain. He shrank to his normal size, collapsing to all fours with head drooping.
Gasping as the cold bit into her skin, Munayair tightened her grip. Odde shrieked. She began to wither at such a rate she appeared to be falling, forked tongue protruding between her teeth. She was still diminishing when she crashed beside the spring. The earth shook and the last of the windstorm died away. As she raised her arm to let the light fall on the dragon, Munayair looked into those black eyes. Underneath, a flicker of violet shone, vivid as a jewel, or crocus in spring—so beautiful it shook her to her core.
They know about you now, Odde spoke in Munayair’s mind, voice a rough creak like pebbles crunching underfoot. No more hiding. If they get their hands on you, soon you’ll be just like me ...
A blur passed before her eyes, and a cold, wet gust forced her to stumble back. Quick as wind herself, Naasiha wrapped around Odde in a tangle of scraping scales. Her eyes, black again instead of green, met Munayair’s. Then the wind rose higher and they vanished. Munayair let out a low gasp as the chain bit, whirring through her fingers into the distance.
“Munayair?” Khuson muttered.
His shoulders slumped and the sword fell with a clang. He looked around with dull and watering eyes, afraid of what he would see. His eyes fell on Munayair’s boots and traveled upward to her face.
He blinked. “You’re alive.”
The chain burned Munayair’s hand. She gave one last tug and it snapped, melting away into nothingness.
“Uh-oh,” Dashjin muttered. He folded his wings and dove, tiny face intent.
The solidified water on the walls came crashing down, a cascade of black water, white foam, and debris. In an instant, the flood engulfed the entire cavern.
Munayair struggled against the current, blinded, water rushing into her nose and mouth. She brushed against something and grabbed desperately, but her fingers slipped and she floated free once more. Her lungs were bursting. She had to take a breath. Lights flashed in her vision. She could see nothing. Water compressed her entire body, senses blacked out.
Avlingai appeared, a glimmer in the blackness. His eyes shone blue-green, the exact shade of hers.
Help me! Munayair cried.
Help you? He chuckled. Child, you have this all backwards.
Then he was gone.
Book Seven: Soulseer
Chapter 55: The Cataract
Hands seized under her arms and jerked her upwards. Then arms crushed her as legs stroked towards the surface. They broke into cold air, stars wheeling overhead.
“Hey! Naya!” Anjita cried. “Are you alive?”
Munayair sucked in sweet air. The flood had passed through the sinkhole and into the greyness of night before morning. Clouds scudded across the sky, and water roared all around. Voices shouted, and more hands hauled them onto something hard and dry.
Water ran in silver streams onto the deck of Bast’s boat. The flood ran wild, tumbling towar
ds the distant ocean. Bader peeked through shredded clouds, wide and watchful. Bast leaned on the tiller, steering the rickety old boat through the deluge. Kneeling beside him, Khuson called out directions to which nobody paid any attention. Dozens of spirits crammed every square handspan.
Once Munayair had breath enough to speak, she gasped, “You saved me.”
Anjita didn’t answer. She looked at the wooden planks underfoot, shoulders heaving for breath. Water slid like tears down her face.
“Kid! Munayair!” A shout rang across the boat, high and panicky.
On creaking joints, Munayair rose wearily. Bast knelt beside the tiller, surrounded by silent spirits. Tiny delj and tembu still clung to his clothes and hid in his pockets. Khuson had taken the tiller and stood watching with an unreadable expression in his eyes.
“I fished her out of the water,” Bast babbled. “It’s the squirrel thing—the tree spirit.” On the floor curled Ennai’s tiny form. Her eyes were squeezed shut, face twisted in anguish, limbs jerking. Bast’s hands trembled more than usual, hovering. “What’s happening?”
Ulger fluttered around them, heads bowed in sorrow. One spoke. “The Great Cypress is gone. She cannot remain in the mortal world without a body ...” The voice wavered. “They fought bravely. She dies a warrior’s death.”
“She needs a body, give her one. I’ll do it,” Bast grunted.
The watching spirits whispered among themselves. The ulger spoke suspiciously. “You wish to save her life? Why?”
Bast scowled. “What does it matter? Just do the thing.” He set his jaw like a mule. “She’s not got time to count every copper vati.”
“Even if your intentions are pure, mortal,” the ulger said, “none among us has the power of binding. It is impossible.”
Munayair bent to look at Ennai’s face, no bigger than a ripened strawberry. Murmuring, the spirits fell back and watched. A line of white fire extended from her heart and ran back towards the body of the dead tree. The connecting cord shriveled away, dying.
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